


Happy Hobbit Holiday - Yours All Along

by crystalphobic



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Flirting, Cultural Differences, Hair Braiding, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, also bilbo acting like an uncle because you can pry that from my cold dead hands, and yes they ARE both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalphobic/pseuds/crystalphobic
Summary: Bilbo is staying in Erebor to help the King and his nephews recover from their injuries.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 17
Kudos: 178
Collections: Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merthallum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merthallum/gifts).



> Gandalf has put Thorin and his nephews into a healing sleep. Bilbo has some trouble coping.

Bilbo had expected to stay for a year. Not at most, but at _least._

He simply couldn’t return home until all his affairs were settled, and there were a great deal of affairs to be settled.

If Lobelia wanted to ransack his house and auction off his belonging to the entire Shire that was _fine_. He had more important things to do in Erebor.

There was the matter of rebuilding the inside of the mountain and making it habitable, which was something he couldn’t handle on his own even if he tried- but he helped by swinging a broom and carrying away some debris anyway.

There were trades to negotiate and supplies to distribute, as well as settlers and caravans to accomodate, which he was slightly better equipped to deal with. He’d thrown birthday parties in the shire before. Birthday parties to the tune of over a hundred guests. _He could help with this, no problem._

However there was one task he didn’t just ‘help with’ but claimed absolute authority over. And that was assisting Thorin and his nephews in their recovery.

Óin was the one in charge of preparing medicine and tinctures and whatnot, but there were so many wounded and so little time in one day that he hardly uttered a word of complaint when Bilbo offered to take a little weight off his shoulders.

He couldn’t conjure miracles like Gandalf or make proper cures like the company’s medic, but the hobbit would not sit helplessly while his dearest friends hovered between life and death.

So every morning Bilbo would clean their wounds, apply whatever medicinal goo Óin pressed into his hand and rebandage them- all with great gentleness and care.

He knew it was Gandalf’s magic that kept the king and his nephews unconscious, but when he looked at their faces instead of their injuries it felt like they were just sleeping. Ready to wake up the next day and go back to annoying him.

Sometimes, when he had spent more time in one week writing letters and inventory lists than sleeping, he could swear he heard a “Mr. Boggins” coming from the bed a few feet away.

On those days he wished the bothersome nickname was more than just his imagination, because it would mean the company would have their boys back.

“You need some rest, lad.”  
  


Bilbo didn’t respond, almost believing the voice to be another creation of his mind, but his head whipped around when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  


“Bilbo?”

“Balin?”

“Boy, by our count you’ve been awake for three days. They won’t run away, I can assure you.”

The kindly old dwarf inclined his head towards the sickbeds, where Bilbo’s gaze stayed fixed for a moment before he cleared his throat and looked back at Balin.  
  


“Excuse me, _our_ count?”  
  


“We’re all worried about you,” Balin said, the grip on Bilbo’s shoulder getting a little stronger and more reassuring. “Óin says you’re working almost as hard as him, which really means you’re working twice as hard as any other dwarf.”

Bilbo stayed quiet for a second, searching for the right words to rid them of their concern. He found none.  
  


“It’s not like I’m scared they’ll wake up and dangle me off the side of the parapet again.”

Deflecting away from the main issue might have helped if it was Bombur he was talking to, but Balin’s age had regretfully made him too wise to fall for that.  
  


“Naturally. You’re not scared of their waking, you’re scared that they’ll be _gone_.”

The words, though spoken with kindness, made Bilbo feel a cold stab near his heart, while his head was heating up.

Balin’s hand left his shoulder and the old dwarf sat down on Kíli’s bed, facing Bilbo, who only now noticed how dark the room had gotten.  
How long had he been sitting there, holding the boy’s hand to feel his heart still beating while searching for the tiniest bit of movement on his face?  
  


“ _Naturally._ ” Bilbo found his voice unsteady all of a sudden.  
  


“Now, assuming that they will wake up eventually, what good will you be for them in this state?”  
  


“No good, I suppose,” came his sullen reply.  
  


“You’ll be no good then, and no good now.” Again the words hit their mark and Bilbo’s face sunk. “Rest, Bilbo. I will take over your vigil.”

There was no arguing with Balin in this pitiful state, so he resigned himself to his fate and slouched his way to the makeshift bed in the corner.

“And look over some of this paperwork, while I’m at it.”  
  


Bilbo’s eyes shot open for a second when he was already half under the covers.

“What was that?”  
  


“Nothing, nothing. Rest now.”

  
  
  


In the weeks until their fevers broke Bilbo probably spent more time sitting in the chambers intended for royalty than any non-dwarf in the history of the mountain.

It was where he could most easily tend to his friends and also do the administrative work he volunteered himself for. It also gave him a great excuse to shoo out any unwelcome visitors- which was _any_ visitors.  
  


He loved them all dearly, of course, but the company was loud and boisterous and the exact opposite of what comatose dwarves recovering from fatal wounds needed. In Bilbo’s opinion, anyway.

It pained him to block the doors, but he could not allow them to go in all at once.  
  


He felt no remorse, however, when he pulled Sting from his scabbard and threatened to remove the nosy envoy of the Iron Hills by force if they did not remove themselves from the sick King’s presence on the count of three.

Somewhere along the way Bilbo must have developed a more fierce protectiveness over the royal idiots than he’d thought. He couldn’t tell where it had come from, but it was there.

The incident was not recorded due to the fact that it happened at the same time as the dwarves waking from their long sleep. And that kind of news tends to overshadow a potential diplomatic crisis.

Against his expectations the first words out of their mouths were neither “Burglar” nor “Mister Boggins” nor “Why are you threatening that dwarf?” but just “ _Bilbo_ ”- which had no business filling him with so much joy, but it _did_.

The door fell shut in front of the envoy’s puzzled face as Bilbo tossed his elven dagger in the vague direction of his desk and hurried over to the beds.

Sure enough, the siblings' eyes were open, and despite most likely being in discomfort they wore smiles on their faces. As if they’d just woken from a pleasant dream.

“You- you- _you_!” Bilbo’s eyes and pointed finger flitted over the boys to Thorin and back. “You three are the most infuriating, impossible to work with, stubborn dwarves I’ve ever had the misfortune to know!”

“I daresay we’ve made mister Boggins quite mad, Fíli.” The youngest dwarf turned his head towards his brother, his smile spreading into a cheeky grin.

“ _Quite_ mad,” agreed the blond, “but nothing compared to what amad will put us through.”

“Goodness, don’t bring that up. We just survived one encounter with death, and I don’t want to think of the one to follow so soon.”

Before their banter could continue any further the boys were each swiftly, yet carefully embraced by a teary eyed hobbit.  
  


“Don’t count yourself lucky, you’ll be dealing with _me_ before your mother deals with you, you little fiends...And don’t you dare get up!”

Kíli had tried to sit up in his bed, but Bilbo rose from his knees and firmly pushed him back down, which prompted a breathy chuckle from Fíli.  
  


“Uncle will protect us from your combined wrath. Right? Won’t you?”

When only silence followed three heads turned to the King’s bed in unison.  
  


For a month Bilbo had done a pretty good job of ignoring the haunting feeling of despair and anguish he got whenever he looked at Thorin’s sleeping figure. Really, he’d done so well. Considering he only spent three out of seven nights on average weeping at the side of his bed, it was an incredible feat of emotional control.

But there was no controlling or describing the explosion of emotion inside his heart when he looked at Thorin, awake and _looking back at him._

“Bilbo-” The king’s voice was hoarse but steady, and yet whatever troubled speech full of regret and emotions he was _about_ to make got cut short.

“ _And you!_ ”

The Hobbit practically flew past Fíli and Kíli’s beds to draw himself up to his full height in front of Thorin, hands on his hips, and started to scold, “Farewell Master Burglar? Who gave you the right to decide when ‘farewell’ would be? You are a _king_ in his prime, but it seems to me you intended to be a royal pain in the arse instead!”  
  


Thorin’s jaw went slack- as did his nephews’, although _they_ quickly started to beam with delight.

“Do you think I could have gone home to my books and my armchair and forgotten about this entire ordeal? Are you that dense?”  
  


“Burglar, please.”

Thorin winced and raised a hand to cover his face, and Bilbo quickly dropped out of his tirade to check if one of the dwarf’s injuries was at fault.

“Not in front of my sister-sons.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to have an indignant look on his face.

Everything around him seemed to stop when he came to a rather shocking realisation; Thorin was _embarrassed._

One would think it should take more than a month of magic sleep for any person to recover from near fatal wounds.

A month after the beast was defeated, the betrayal committed and the battle won- and the King under the Mountain was conscious enough to feel _embarrassed_ by his burglar telling him off in front of his nephews.  
  


Bilbo had expected to stay in Erebor for a year- at _least_ \- but considering the way his heart started to pound and his face turned red at the sight before him, maybe it would be wiser to pack and leave right away.  
Or maybe he would never leave at all.


	2. Chapter 2

When later generations learned about the Battle of the Five Armies they’d hear that the King under the Mountain and the youngest of his company recovered wonderfully after their brief contact with death- entirely thanks to one hobbit.  
  


Gandalf had returned to the mountain and offered to take Bilbo back to the Shire after Thorin had woken up- most of the other wounded had long since healed and Óin was free to devote his time towards his new King.  
It was a roundabout way of saying ‘This is your way out. Take it or leave it.’

And Bilbo left it.

He trusted Óin and the rest of the company more than anyone in the world, but he’d be damned if he let those rambunctious dwarves alone with three people who had no business moving more than 2 feet in and around their beds.

It just felt like they needed a hobbit, the same way the company had needed him at the start of their journey.

Maybe Gandalf had picked him for that reason all along- maybe he knew that one hobbit balances out twelve dwarves and their antics.  
  


So Bilbo stayed, which was the important part.

He continued to help treat their injuries, but found it was a lot harder to do when the lot of them were awake and could voice their complaints.

It was still better, though, than treating them and not knowing whether they’d ever wake up at all.

It didn’t sit right with any of his patients to be lying down all day, every day.

The first month after their initial healing sleep was the easiest, considering the tremendous pain they were in if they moved so much as the wrong muscle.  
  


However, once the pain faded to dull aches and bearable flare-ups there was little Bilbo could do to stop them from attempting to escape the confines of their beds.

But what little he _could_ do was a great help for Óin, who was the real person in charge of the royal health regimen. Distracting the royal pains-in-the-ass and making sure they stayed in bed was no easy feat, according to their medic, but Bilbo excelled at it.

“Tell me again, why do they make medicine taste so bad? Is it on purpose?” asked Fíli, looking rather disgusted by the content of the vial Bilbo had brought to his bed.

“It must be,” Kíli let his tongue, dyed a deep shade of green by whatever concoction Óin prescribed, hang out, “I can hardly get it down.”  
  


“They do _not_ make it bad on purpose and you _will_ get it down.”

Bilbo sat at his writing desk in the royal chambers- which functioned as both a sickhouse and the administrative center of the entire mountain.

A smile tucked at the corner of his lips as he turned around and saw Fíli throw back his head and swallow the medicine- and promptly gagging intentionally.

Bilbo found it hard to contain his laughter, but when his eyes met the steely blue of Thorin's, his face froze up momentarily.

When he realised the dwarf was wearing an identical expression, though, stuck somewhere between happiness and concern for Fíli, he relaxed and turned his attention back to his writing.  
  


“Mister Boggins, can’t you bring us some of those honeycombs from the kitchen? Like last week?” Kíli’s woeful plea made another smile appear on the hobbit’s face.  
“They make the whole ordeal a lot easier, if you catch my meaning.”  
  


“Exactly. This bitterness is unbearable,” said Fíli, who was unsuccessfully trying to scrape the flavor off of his tongue with a napkin.

“Please, good Mister Boggins?”  
  


“Promise to drop the ‘Mister Boggins’ from our conversations from now on?” Bilbo didn’t look up from the paper, and just raised his voice enough for them to hear.  
  


The siblings looked at him, at each other, and back at him. Even without seeing them, something in him knew they were mentally crossing their fingers behind their back.

“Promise.”

Bilbo placed his quill in the well, sighed, and turned around in his chair.

“You’re in luck. I already got the candies this morning.”

Two voices rang out yelling “What?!”, while another snickered in the corner.  
  


“How cruel you are Mister Boggins.” It seemed they had already forgotten their promise. “You just let us suffer through this vile mixture of leaves and ooze.”  
  


The hobbit had risen from his seat and retrieved a box from one of the drawers in his desk, which technically wasn’t his desk at all, but Thorin’s. Everything in the room belonged to Thorin.  
  


“I thought it might get you more excited for the sweets,” he said with a not-wicked-at-all smile.

And he was right, since the boys each devoured a handful of honeycomb before he could so much as _suggest_ they save some for later.

Luckily Bilbo was gifted with some foresight, and had saved one piece of the candy.  
  


Thorin took his medicine without complaining, even though his face still betrayed some level of disgust.

He must have thought he’d hidden it well, since he seemed to startle when Bilbo sat down in the chair next to his bed.  
  
  


“I thought _his majesty_ would also like something to uh- ‘make the whole ordeal easier’?”

Bilbo gave him a brief smile, before directing his gaze towards the intricate carvings in the wall. They were just so much more interesting than the half-dressed dwarf.

“A correct assumption, but refrain from calling me that.” The dwarf shifted a little uncomfortably. “You were fine calling me Thorin before.”  
  


“It was a joke-” Bilbo mumbled, willing himself to stop avoiding eye contact and put on a pleasantly neutral face.

“You should eat the candy before menace number one and two find out there’s some left.”

“Right you are, burglar.”  
  


Thorin had reached over to pick up the honeycomb, when an unexpected hand blocked his way. Fair is fair.  
  


“ _Refrain_ from calling me that, please.” His tone was playful, but Thorin could feel that Bilbo meant it.  
  


His quizzical expression was replaced with a more gentle one as he broke the treat in half and offered it to the hobbit.

“Right you are, _Bilbo._ ”  
  


Right away it seemed like Bilbo had gotten more than he bargained for. Hearing his name in Thorin’s voice, with that look in his eyes- good heavens, what was he thinking?  
  
Bilbo shook his head for just a moment, and if Thorin noticed anything off he didn’t mention it. Or the red tips of Bilbo’s ears. Though he _did_ see those.

“Uncle, we’re bored.”

They blinked and the moment was over.

“Bored to death,” added Fíli, but quickly shut his mouth when Thorin glared at him across Bilbo’s shoulder.  
  


“Duty calls,” whispered Bilbo with a wink to Thorin, before turning his chair around so his back wasn’t facing the boys.  
  


“A game, then. To keep you from doing anything foolish like _trying to leave your bed_.”

The hobbit was smiling cheerfully, but his eyes looked right at Kíli, whose foot had gotten ever so close to dropping off the edge of his bed. A little further and he might have made it.  
  


“What kind of game can you play while sick in bed and prohibited from moving?”

The dwarf was visibly disappointed that his escape attempt was thwarted, but Bilbo could see that he was at least a little interested in playing something.  
  


“Word games, for one,” Bilbo had expected him to lose interest right away, but against his expectations all three dwarves were listening intently, “or riddles, but I am less inclined to do those.”

None of them felt the need to dig further into the reason why, so Bilbo clapped his hand once and proclaimed that they’d play a word chaining game.  
  


“The rules are simple; I start out with a word, and you take the last letter of that word and make it the first of yours. If you say a word twice or can’t come up with one in less than five seconds you’re out. Last one standing wins.”

“We’re familiar. You may start.”

Bilbo was unsure why, but the three of them seemed to radiate confidence. Word games weren’t exactly hard, so victory was far from unachievable, but something about their smirks unsettled him.  
  
  


“Pony,” he decided to not go easy on them, but Thorin had apparently come prepared since it took less than two seconds for him to say ‘youth.’

Kíli’s ‘hail’ was followed by ‘light’ and Bilbo got ‘tea’ just in the nick of time.

However, Thorin’s next word was something that changed the course of the game quite drastically.  
  


“Âzyungel.”  
  


Despite the meaning being lost to Bilbo, the word sounded pleasant- and although pleasant, he was almost sure it was against the rules of the game.

Before he could even bring up that fact, though, Kíli yelped out an almost scandalised “Uncle?!”  
  


“Wrong letter, you’re out,” noted Fíli, looking quite shocked himself, “But I will admit, I didn’t think we’d be uh- breaking out the Khuzdul so soon. Learn.”

Bilbo was not able to derive from their reactions what Thorin had said, but he assumed it was a curse. What else could make both of the younger dwarves look so wide eyed and flustered.

“N-uh- nothing!” he had almost suffered the same fate as Kíli, but managed to turn it around. Confusion was a great tactic to eliminate other players.

"Nothing... nothing- Ghivasha!”  
  
“I feel like you have an unfair advantage,” Bilbo disrupted the game before Fíli could give his word, “Can’t we use our common language?”  
  
“You didn’t specify in the rules, Mister Boggins- adad.”

The following rounds were a mix between khuzdul and common speech, until Fíli couldn’t come up with a word following ‘double’, for which he cursed himself.  
  


“Everything would have worked! _Eh-verything_ could have worked!”

“Thank you for that, dear.” Bilbo was more than happy to benefit from the dwarf’s loss. “Everything.”  
  


“Goodness,” came Thorin’s response.  
  


“Is that you admitting defeat? Shell.”

“Not at all. Lead.”

“Then I’ll just have to do better- determination.”

“Need.”

“That’s all? How...dull.”

“Alright, do better then, _love_.”  
  


In retrospect, this had no right to throw Bilbo off his rhythm as much as it did, but exactly five seconds after ‘love’ had left Thorin’s lips he was still at a loss for words.  
  
  
  


Several rounds of wordplay later the four of them were yawning more than they were participating in their games, and Bilbo thought it appropriate to end their activities there.  
  


“But we’re not tired?” Kíli said, obviously having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Tell him Fíli.”

Fíli’s reply was an exaggerated and contagious yawn.

“There you have it. Not tired at all.”  
  
  


Bilbo had already gotten up to gather the quilts and pillows that had been thrown in fits of rage during the course of their games. He realised he must have completely forgotten all sense of time, for the usually chipper and energetic young dwarves had fallen asleep the minute he’d covered them with their blankets.

He closed the curtain that divided the boys’ beds from that of the king and sat down at his side.  
On most days this was the only opportunity they got to have a conversation that Fíli and Kíli couldn’t overhear. The hobbit would have to make it short, since, according to Óin’s recommendation, Thorin should have been asleep over an hour ago.  
  


“Time sure flies when you’re having fun. I do dread having to walk down to my new chambers like a thief in the night.” Bilbo kept his voice down, despite knowing the dwarves behind the curtain were fast asleep.  
  


“Then don’t.”  
  


“Excuse me?” thinking he had misheard, he raised his voice in surprise. Right away he chided himself mentally, trying again in a more hushed tone. “ _I’m sorry?_ I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my provisionary cot has been removed as of yesterday.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is a very large bed.” Thorin sounded tired, but there was a note of something else in his voice. Either way, Bilbo was too stunned to answer.

“Balin was here earlier, and told me you had requested the smallest quarters available. If memory serves, those would be a 20 minute walk from here.” Bilbo found himself cursing the old dwarf, as he’d done frequently in the past weeks.  
  


“You’re a member of my company. Living in rooms intended for workers is an insult to your status in Erebor- and an insult to me.”

The hobbit’s head, which had started to droop due to his own lack of sleep, shot up at that.

“Thorin, I’d never want to insult you intentionally. If it’s such a great deal, I’ll tell Balin to have a different room prepared, and-” Thorin’s hand was covering his own, and the dwarf was smiling smugly. When had that happened?

“Oh. You’re pulling my leg.”  
  


“Indeed I am. But I do believe it’d be easier if you slept here for tonight.” Their eyes met, and even though Bilbo immediately returned to looking at those favored carvings of his, he couldn’t help but notice the warmth in Thorin’s gaze.  
  


“This _is_ a really large bed,” he conceded and Thorin’s smile widened, “and I have no desire to walk all the way down there. Move over.”

Bilbo knew nobody was allowed to enter these rooms without his permission, so the chance of anyone finding out he, a Baggins of Bag End, was sharing a bed with a dwarven king were very slim.

And if someone did find out he could always beg Gandalf to take him home, where he still had the chance to be a respectable hobbit... Who was he kidding, he had got it _bad_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the scandalous Khuzdul, for those who are clueless:
> 
> Âzyungel – love of loves
> 
> Ghivasha – treasure


	3. Chapter 3

Dwarves recovered more quickly from injuries than Bilbo had thought. Then again, not every dwarf got treatment from a wizard, some elves, and one Bilbo Baggins.  
  


It was the second month of their recovery, and after much convincing and effective persuasion Óin yielded and gave both Thorin and his nephews the right to go outside- under the condition that he or Bilbo were in attendance.

Despite including himself in that agreement, Óin- by no means being a young dwarf- had no intention to leave the comfort of his workplace. 

_”Unless they manage to fall down the mountain or start bleeding out randomly, they’re all yours for the rest of the day.”  
  
_

Óin’s words were a blessing and a curse for Bilbo. 

On one hand he wanted to spend time with his friends. Not cooped up in their chambers, but taking a walk in the great outdoors. No letters or documents to worry about, just him, the boys, and Thorin.  
  
On the other hand it was just him, the boys, _and Thorin._

Officially, this was a way to let Thorin see the progress being made in- and outside the mountain. Structures were being rebuilt, most settlers and traders had relocated from tents to Dale or the mountain itself- all in all Erebor was on a great track to prosperity.

But Bilbo couldn’t care less about any of that when he was out here, walking next to Thorin in the snow.  
  


“Are you sure you’re not cold?” he did his best to not sound too much like his own mother. “If it’s too cold I’ll call Fíli and Kíli and we’ll go back inside.”  
  


“Four times.” Thorin stopped to look at his burglar.

“Excuse me?”

“That makes four times you asked me if I was cold, and four times I’ve told you that I‘m fine.”   
  


Thorin’s smile was more radiant than the winter sun, making Bilbo fix his eyes to the ground. The red of his ears could be explained by the temperature, at least he hoped so, but if he stared wordlessly at the king there would have to be some explaining to do.  
  


“Are you sure it’s not _you_ who is suffering from the cold?” There was humor in his voice, but also some genuine concern.   
  


“What? Me? No- no, I’m fine.” Bilbo raised his hands in a gesture of denial at the same time as Thorin raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
  


“Really? You’ve mentioned it several times.” Thorin stood in front of him, seeming to reach for Bilbo’s hand. When did he get so close? Was he going to? No way- or was he?  
  
  


Whether or not Thorin would have held his hand would remain a mystery to Bilbo, as just before they made contact a snowball made contact with the king’s face.  
  


The dwarf sputtered, snow sticking everywhere from his brow to his beard, and Bilbo has to slap a hand over his mouth to not dissolve into laughter on the spot.

Only a slight cackle escaped him, followed up by clearing his throat to cover it up- Fíli and Kíli, on the other hand, didn’t even try hiding their mirth.  
  


Bilbo turned around, and judging from their position a few feet up an incline he figured they must have been aiming for the back of his head and slightly overshot.  
  


“Scoundrels, you! I told you not to play in the snow!” Bilbo quickly made his way over to the boys, who were slowly backing away. He imagined they had realised their error when they saw Thorin’s death stare

“Remember what Óin said about your injuries?”  
  


“The word ‘injuries’ certainly came up,” replied Kíli nonchalantly. Bilbo could tell he was weighing the option of running away, but there’d be no outrunning him, especially in their wounded state.

“Yes ‘injuries’, and uh- ‘tearing stitches’? It might have been ‘bearing riches’, I can’t quite recall- ouch- ow!”

“Your hearing is not as bad as Óin’s _just yet._ ”

Bilbo had caught up with the two young dwarves and held both of them by the ears, pulling their faces down to his level. The hobbit had given up on not acting like his own mother, and was embracing her spirit instead.  
  


“Now, we’re going to go back inside and get you all warmed up- look at your coats, they’re already soaked! - and then we’ll find an appropriate punishment.”  
  
“Punishment?” they echoed, shaking themselves loose from Bilbo’s grip.

“Yes, you heard me. Now quick, quick, quick, I want all three of you inside before you catch your death.”

A half hour later Fíli and Kíli were lying in their beds, complaining to each other about who had messed up their first trip outside in months. They eventually settled on ‘Mister Boggins’ being the culprit, for if he was just a bit taller they would have hit their mark and gotten away with it.

‘Mister Boggins’ overheard this, and decided to add less honey to their tea than he usually would have.  
  


The hobbit was carrying a tray with tea and sweets- both things that were far more easy to acquire now that trade was going strong between dwarves and men. He sat down next to Thorin’s bed first, offering him a cup.  
  


“Weren’t you going to punish them?” Thorin remarked, pointing at the cookies and cake he brought from the kitchen.

“Well, you’re the one who got hit in the face,” said Bilbo, taking a sip of his tea, “you ought to decide on their fate.”  
  


“Are you sure?”  
  


Bilbo felt warm all of a sudden, and he was quite certain it wasn’t because of the warm beverage.  
  


“I’m sure. You are also their uncle and the king. I’m sure you have the authority.”  
  


After some contemplative silence and several sips of tea Thorin came to a decision.  
  
“They may have their tea- it’s to warm them up after all, and the last thing we need is them catching a cold-” Bilbo nodded his agreement as Thorin continued, “but we keep the sweets for ourselves.”  
  
The hobbit’s eyes widened.

“We’re taking candy from children?”  
  


“We’re withholding it from two grown dwarves who should have known better than to hit their uncle in the face.”  
  


“Well, if you say it like that,” Bilbo shrugged and grabbed a cookie, “who am I to disagree?”

After giving the boys their warming tea and instructing them to stay in bed- an instruction that almost went unheard inbetween their protests over not receiving any baked goods- Bilbo drew the curtain closed, leaving him and Thorin to enjoy a very lovely teatime.

In some ways it reminded him of home. Sure, the tea wasn’t name-brand and the cake wasn’t made by his favorite baker in Hobbiton, but he was sitting in a comfortable chair at four o’clock with a warm cup and some good company.  
  


While they shared what appeared to be some kind of biscuit cake they talked about the rebuilding of Dale, the arrival of more settlers from the Blue Mountains, and the ensuing paperwork.

If someone had told Bilbo five years ago that one day he’d sit in the royal chambers of the Lonely Mountain, sharing cake with a dwarven king and discussing diplomatic strategies… well, he’d have called them as crazy as people in the shire would call him now.  
  


As he was contemplating the unbelievable nature of his situation, Thorin pushed the last slice of the pastry onto his plate.  
  


“Hold up- shouldn’t the king get the last piece? Isn’t that a thing?”  
  


“Personally, I’m trying to go against greed and gluttony for now.”

Bilbo was already cursing himself before Thorin made his point- why was it so hard to accept kindness without getting flustered these days? He just had to accept it gracefully.  
  


“Alright, fine.” _Gracefully._ “After all, it has been a while since I’ve seen a treat like this. Thank you.”  
  
  


The cake _was_ lovely, so he didn’t resist any further and simply enjoyed the slice- or tried to, since halfway through he realised Thorin was watching him.

Not a ‘I actually wanted that cake’ kind of watching, but just a long, intent stare. 

If it had been anyone but Thorin doing it, Bilbo might have felt slightly less uncomfortable- but the King under the Mountain was simply looking at him, attentive and...tenderly?  
  


_No, no, where did that come from- focus on something else._

“Oh- Thorin, your hair-” Bilbo set his cake down on the tray and made the bold move of sitting down on the bed. Next to Thorin.

“What about it?” The king sounded calm, but almost like he was forcing composure.

“Your braid is loose.” Bilbo, desperate for any kind of distraction and use of his hands, started to untangle the strands of hair Thorin must have tried to fashion into a braid in the morning.

No wonder it had gotten loose over the course of the day; the dwarf still had trouble lifting his arms above his head.  
  


“Ah,” was all Thorin could bring himself to say. 

The hobbit could not see, but there was a distinct red tint to the king’s face. Having shifted to sit behind rather than next to him, though, Bilbo had a grand opportunity to admire a different view.

Thorin’s shoulders were broad and firm- you’d think he would have gotten used to it by now, but a year of living with dwarves does not make up for 50 of living with hobbits. Would he ever stop taking notice of them?   
He certainly noticed every time he changed the king's bandages. At the time he had no such thoughts, but thinking back, it was quite remarkable how strong Thorin looked even while sleeping.  
  


His hands must have stalled, because Thorin had to pull him back to reality with a breath of his name, posed as a question.  
  


“Oh, right.” Bilbo continued his work, starting to weave together strands of hair.  
“I wish I had some flowers,” he noted, still a little absent minded.  
  


“What?” Thorin turned his head a little, trying to catch a glimpse of his burglar.

“Flowers, for your hair,” Bilbo clarified, “It’s something we do back home- in the Shire. I reckon you might use jewels or metals shaped to look like flowers, but there’s nothing better than the real thing.”  
  


“I see.” 

Thorin sounded pensive. Had Bilbo said something wrong?

With the curtain being quite abruptly drawn back, inquiring further was made impossible.

The two young dwarves, most likely in search of whatever sweets were left, looked at Bilbo and their uncle with a mixture of awe and absolute disbelief.  
  


“The uh- cake?” asked Fíli, reaching beside him to shut Kíli’s slack jaw.  
  


Bilbo, thoroughly confused, finished off the braid and looked at Thorin- which was a grave mistake.

Not once in all his years of life had he seen a scowl so deadly and sinister.  
  


“ _Nevermind!_ ” yelped a very intimidated Kíli, dragging his brother back and behind the curtain.

The hobbit had long given up on trying to understand situations like these, and filed it under ‘dwarves being dwarves’. 

Thorin, who understood the situation all too well, simply resigned himself to his fate.


	4. Interlude: Letters to Dís

Dear sister,

I am writing in the hopes that you are in good health and ready for travel.

Work on the inside of the mountain, as well as the city of men is proceeding smoothly. By the time you and your companions arrive from the Western Mountains we will be able to greet you with a feast deserving of the restoration of our family.

Me and my sister-sons await your arrival. Kíli is making strides in his recovery and Fíli, as always, is not far behind.

At your earliest convenience, please remind your sons to respect other people’s privacy and not to run their mouths carelessly.

- Thorin 

* * *

  
  
  


Mother!

the Craziest things are happening, and we really feel you have to know

First of all, yes mother, it was wrong of us to leave and almost die and not write to you until now, but we did defeat a dragon and several armies and are now heroes!

So please don’t kill us for almost dying, please.

second of all, we are now able to wield weapons again, which Óin said was ‘not the right way to tell if we are still injured’

but on the bright side, I can pull my bow without pain, so that’s actually great news!

Enough of that though, mother, uncle is acting strange. not strange like he did with the sickness, strange as in

  
  


he lets the hobbit sleep in his bed

when we went outside they almost held hands

and last week he 

he let him Braid his Hair

his hair mother!!!

we should mention

The hobbit is a member of our company and we trust him. He's been taking very good care of us, but we don’t know if uncle is going to make a move and it is making us very anxious.

Please get here soon, don’t kill us, and tell uncle not to be a chicken because we are too scared to do it

Love, your sons


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo avoided touching or even looking at Thorin’s hair for a month after their Incident. He was drowning in paperwork anyway, and considering that the injured dwarves were not so injured anymore, he didn’t have to stay at their sides all hours of the day.  
  
He still stayed at their sides _most_ hours of the day, by virtue of living and working in the same chambers.  
But when Thorin or the boys wanted to go outside they now did so on their own.

Sometimes Bilbo would set aside his quill and ink and join Thorin for a stroll, but with news coming in of his sister arriving within the coming year there was a lot more work to be done by the both of them.

He tried not to think too much about the implications of how miserable he felt when he was sitting at his desk, signing off on the construction of another forge.  
  


As if someone had read his mind and decided to do something about his state of being, Bilbo was suddenly distracted by something colorful being set down on the stack of papers next to him.  
  


“Bellflowers, flax- Thorin what is this?” 

  
“Flowers.” 

  
“I can tell, but- why?” he eyed the bunch up and down. This was quite a surprise.  
  


“You said you wanted them.”   
  


“Thorin. Are you _giving me these?_ ” Bilbo couldn’t say he’d ever seen a dwarf looking bashful- until now.  
  
Then again, he couldn’t blame him, considering the implications of what he was doing.  
  


“Yes?”

“Oh dear, oh no- Thorin you can’t go around giving me flowers, people might misunderstand!”

“I- I do not- What do you mean?”  
  
  


Bilbo, still seated, leaned forward and motioned for Thorin to do the same.

“They might think-” he coughed inconspicuously- “that you’re trying to _woo_ me.”  
  


“ _What?_ ” Thorin looked quite surprised, but Bilbo couldn’t find an explanation as to why. It was rather self evident.

“Flowers given by one bachelor to another- when there’s no birthday or special occasion- is usually interpreted as a courting gift. That is...how it works?” he tried to help the dwarf out, but really, how could he not know this?

“Not for us.”

“Not for you-” Bilbo looked at Thorin's face and connected the dots- “Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry, you’re right. How foolish.”  
  


Of course dwarves wouldn’t gift each other flowers to make their intentions known. They’re _dwarves-_ and Bilbo chided himself for not knowing better.

But still… the flowers were a very nice gift to receive, even if it was strictly platonic. Inspecting them up close he realised the flowers were clearly _delicately_ handpicked- and he couldn’t help but smile.

“So uh- you apparently have a very different way of courting. Interesting!”

“Oh yes, it is.” Bilbo got up to find something vase-like to put the flowers into. Mostly as a way to avoid looking at Thorin for a minute.  
“Generally speaking we go from flowers to spending time alone to officially meeting the family. It’s a very enjoyable way of doing things.”  
  


When his eyes inevitably wandered back to Thorin he saw the dwarf shifting on his feet and looking a little uncomfortable. Were his injuries acting up?  
  


“I see. We- that is, dwarves-” the king paused, looking at the flowers in Bilbo’s hands. His expression was unreadable.

“Actually, our rituals are secret and I cannot let you know.”  
  


What?  
  


“I’ll be taking my leave. Burglar.”  
  


_Burglar?_

  
  


Before Bilbo could call anything about their interaction into question Thorin had disappeared through the door. The hobbit was too perplexed to move from his spot, feeling as though his feet had taken root in the cold stone floor.

After some seconds that felt like hours, he heard noises coming from the hallway and instantly felt something was afoot.

He’d already had a hunch, but rounding a corner he could confirm that it was Fíli and Kíli, holding their sides as they shook with laughter.  
  


“And what is so funny, you two?”

The two dwarves snorted and tried to catch their breath, before succumbing to another round of their hooting and howling.  
  


“The courting rituals aren’t secret- Uncle’s just a _prude_!” Kíli lightly slapped his brother’s shoulder, but ended up holding onto it for support.  
  


“Don’t let him hear you say that, or- wait, they’re not secret?” 

Bilbo was worried for the boys, seeing as their laughing was making them move more muscles than their daily sessions with Óin.  
  


“No, not at all secret.” Fíli had recovered from his last fit of giggles, and was practically beaming at the hobbit.

“Would you like to know them?”  
  
  


Bilbo squinted at the dwarves and weighed his options carefully.

They could be pulling an elaborate prank, but if they _weren’t_ making fun of him… Thorin must have lied for a reason.

“N...o- yes. Yes,” he gave up, dragging them both out of the hallway and into their room.  
"Tell me.”  
  


“So first you give your heart’s desire a gift.” Kíli made himself sound far more mature and wise than Bilbo had ever thought possible for him.

“Has to be something of _personal_ value-” interjected Fíli- “not just pretty gems. Unless you’re into that.”  
  


“Aye, and then you can get closer.” Bilbo nodded, but this was a lot to take in. “Usually that's when people start to spend all their time together. You know, working together, spending the night, braiding each other's hair.”   
  


“Braiding their hair?” blurted the hobbit, which was probably a great mistake.

“Yes. Our hair is very important to us, and so are braids.” Bilbo didn’t have to look at him to _feel_ the smugness in Kíli’s face. “If you let someone near your hair it either means you’re family, or, well- there’s an understanding that you are _to be_ family. If you catch my drift.”  
  


“I think he’s catching, alright, just look at him.”  
  


“Oh hush!” Bilbo exclaimed before looking back to Kíli, “What’s next?”  
  
“Well…”

“Well?”

Both dwarves fell silent for a moment, as if looking for the right words.

“Last step isn’t as simple, I’m afraid.”

Oh great, would he have to slay another dragon?

“You need to prove your worth.”

“My- your worth?” 

“Prove that you can pull your own weight. That you support your partner if they’re in need, and are capable of making up for when they’re lacking in something.”

“It's vital that you’re equals. You don’t hold power over another, you _are_ each other's power.”  
  


Bilbo hadn’t expected something so profound to come from these two knuckleheads- he loved them, but this? This was something entirely new.  
  


“I think…” The dwarves were staring at him, his head felt hot and he hadn’t seen sunlight in two days. “I think I need some fresh air.”

As he rushed out of the room Bilbo was quite certain he heard Fíli and Kíli groaning with frustration. What had they _expected_?

The hobbit ended up taking a long, silent walk on his own. He greeted some members of the company on his way outside, as well as taking a minute to check in with Balin, but once he was out of the mountain he did not stop walking for over an hour.

The weather was becoming more pleasant every day, and he cursed his past self for taking on so many responsibilities that required him to sit in front of a desk. He was very fond of writing, actually, but after doing nothing _but_ writing for so long he was much fonder of the outdoors.  
  


While at first he just walked ahead with no regard for his surroundings, a few dashes of color in the corners of his eye eventually made Bilbo stop and look around.

Bellflowers. The same that Thorin had got him.

“ _That dastardly-_ he's not supposed to walk this far or for this long, and yet he goes all the way here just for some flowers?” Bilbo knelt down next to a cluster of them, picking the petals off of one.  
  


“The nerve of that dwarf… the nerve of me!” He threw the petals he’d collected to the side. “Me braiding his hair must have made him so uncomfortable.”

And there he was, finally reaching the core of his problem.

“I mean, he didn’t seem _that_ inconvenienced by it. It was probably politeness, considering I thought I was helping him with something he couldn’t do himself-” The hobbit dwelled on that thought for a second, before crushing one of the bell shaped blossoms in his hand- “ _which is another thing I shouldn’t have done._ ”  
  


The grass was dry and the sun was shining, so Bilbo decided it was perfectly fine and reasonable to lay down and contemplate the intricacies of dwarven courting rituals for a while. As one does.

“Taking care of him while he was sick must have given off the impression that I was throwing myself at him… then again, nobody ever said so much as a peep, which is strange considering the company are gossips, the lot of them.”

He suddenly recalled some moments when he was still attending to Thorin’s every need, moments that should have tipped him off. 

Bombur’s expressions of delight whenever Bilbo came to the kitchen to fetch a snack. Balin’s knowing, _confounding_ smile when Bilbo had first asked to take over paperwork intended for Thorin.

 _Everything_ Fíli and Kíli had said and done in his presence the last few weeks.

It made a lot more sense now.  
  


“I should apologise.”


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin was inside his room. The hobbit knew this because when asked by a bouquet-holding Bilbo if the king was in his chambers, Balin had looked at him with a poorly concealed smile and said “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Also he’d checked every other spot in the mountain as a way to avoid this inevitable confrontation, for which he was building up courage right now.  
  


Bilbo had _planned_ to quickly get it over with, but that was before he arrived in front of the door. 

The door to Thorin’s room, which was also _his_ room, but not really. His desk was inside, and a chair he’d commissioned to better fit his proportions, but what claim did that give him to the place?

What did it matter if this room was where his favorite inkwell stood, where he spent most of his time, or where he realised he really, truly loved Thorin?   
  


If he ever made a big enough mistake he could be turned out of Erebor within an hour, and he wouldn’t have any posessions to leave behind because, in reality, nothing here belonged to him.

Everything in the room, in the entire bloody mountain, belonged to the king, and he’d been unpardonably rude to him.  
Regardless of how Bilbo did or didn’t feel, Thorin could never reciprocate- because _Bilbo_ was not a dwarf.  
  


He didn’t know anything about their more intricate customs, and if he’d bothered to ask beforehand, he could have easily hidden all of these pesky, annoying feelings instead of wearing them on his sleeve.

So he had to apologise, he _had to_ -  
  


“Bilbo?”

He must have stopped breathing for a while there, because when the door opened and Thorin looked at him with such concern in his eyes and confusion in his voice the hobbit felt more than a little dizzy.

“What are you doing standing out here? You’ll catch a cold.”  
  


“I am- so sorry,” he gasped, “for everything that I have put you through.”

“ _What?_ ”

“The boys, they told me about… your courting rituals. What I did was absolutely inappropriate, and you were being far too polite with not letting me know.”  
  


To say that Thorin looked confused would be inaccurate. The dwarf looked positively _perplexed_ , and after quickly searching the hallway to the left and right with his eyes he pulled Bilbo inside.

Bilbo watched him take in a deep breath as he presumably tried to compose himself for announcing Bilbo’s upcoming exile.  
  


“Have you ever known me to be polite?”

The hobbit’s gut said: ‘Never once in my life.’ Thankfully, though, his head intervened.

“Considering you’re royalty, I’d hate to say something that might get me in trouble.”

“No. The answer is _no_.”

“So you let me do… all of that- just ‘cause?”   
  


Thorin was standing rather close, and unlike the last time they found themselves in this setting, he took Bilbo’s hand.

Meanwhile, Bilbo was looking at Thorin with blatant confusion. He could have sworn everything made sense a few minutes ago. If he had not gotten caught up in his own worries, he’d have knocked, walked into the room, gotten an obvious yet subtle rejection and then hid under a rock for a week.  
  
  


So what went wrong?

The answer was Thorin, because he was always the answer, and because he was the one who neglected to tell Bilbo about the dwarves’ strange courting practices.

Bilbo wouldn’t even be here anymore if Thorin hadn’t almost gotten himself killed in the first place- if he hadn’t needed his support, Bilbo would have never had a reason to step up to all these responsibilities and wound up looking like he wanted to prove his worth.  
  
And the braid! Was it _that_ hard to communicate to the hobbit that he was doing something scandalous?  
  
Then again, it wasn’t him but Thorin who asked to share a bed, so he was not guilty in that sense. That, and according to his memory, he’d never given Thorin a gift of any real value.

As a general rule, Thorin was the one who gifted _him_ things. The mithril shirt was one thing, but the flowers?  
  


_Oh dear. The flowers.  
  
_

The silence lay heavy between the two of them, and just as Thorin softly started with “ _Because,_ burglar-” Bilbo drowned out his attempt to speak.  
  


“Wait- wait just one minute, Thorin,” the hobbit shook his hand free and promptly used it to touch his head, where many gears were currently turning, “You went on an hour long walk- at great cost to your health- to get me _flowers_.”

Thorin had no chance to say something in response, but he did give Bilbo a rather anxious look.

“You got me flowers, which is not something you just stumble upon by chance around here. I asked for them, I _told you_ I’d like some flowers, which means they were a gift. Thorin, you gave me a _gift_.”  
  


Bilbo never got used to the sight of seeing Thorin embarrassed, but what a sight it was to see a dwarven king fiddle nervously with his robe.  
  


“...Yes.”

“A gift of personal value?”

“Yes.”

“Which means-”

“ _Yes._ ”  
  
He didn’t protest when Thorin took his hands again, drawing him closer than ever before.  
  


Calling the kiss perfect would be understating it- it was warm, not overly gentle and gave Bilbo a craving for more.

Alas, before they could get to anything _more_ , two voices from the hallway rang out with laughter and cheering.  
  


“Uncle Thorin and Uncle Boggins, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”  
  
“Wow, we didn’t think you had the guts!

“Yeah, we were sure mother would have to give you a push, but you did it all by yourself.”

“We are so proud of you uncle! Uncle? Why aren’t you laughing? Oh Mahal-”

The dwarves’ grins died and they quickly made a run for it as Thorin took a few swift strides to the door. 

Bilbo thought he’d have to hold him back from going after them and giving his nephews a proper scolding- _he_ was going to do that, later, after more kisses- but Thorin didn’t even step into the hallway.

He simply shut the door with a slight, but exasperated groan. Bilbo could imagine the thoughts going through the king’s head at the moment, since he shared most of them.   
  


Balin would be the first to know, and though he was very good at keeping secrets, Ori would be working in the office with him, and Ori couldn’t _not_ tell his cousins. 

Dori and Nori would tell Bombur over dinner, who would tell Bofur, and Bofur would tell everyone else. Provided the boys hadn’t _already_ told Glóin and Dwalin. 

Óin already knew- Bilbo was certain of that. He had, however, been a very good sport about it and not said anything. It probably gave the healer an advantage in the betting pool, which was sure to exist even if the company wouldn’t admit to it later.  
  
  


“I will hang those nephews of mine by their ankles,” muttered Thorin under his breath, head leaning against the closed door, “and when their mother comes home I’ll entreat her to do the same.”  
  


“They saved us the trouble of having to tell everyone.” Bilbo stroked Thorin’s shoulder, gently wrapping an arm around him. “Let them have their moment, we can decide on their punishment later.”  
  


“We?” there was something soft and hopeful in his eyes as he spoke, “I thought I had the authority- as uncle and king.”  
  


“Well!” Bilbo flushed from the neck upwards and retracted his arm. “Considering you just started _courting_ me, I think I get some of the privileges that come with being an uncle.”  
  


“Yes, I’ve given you a gift, but I have received nothing in return- I can’t be sure of your feelings towards me until you give me something.”  
  


Thorin smirked, obviously joking. Considering their kiss from earlier- and everything Bilbo had done these past months- it was rather obvious what the hobbit felt. 

Nevertheless, Bilbo didn’t want that joke to become a real obstacle later on, so he glanced around the room in search of something.  
  


When he spotted it inbetween the many stacks of parchment he left Thorin’s side to walk over to his desk.

“Bilbo?” Thorin frowned, following after the hobbit, “I was not being serious. You’re a hobbit, our customs don’t apply-”  
  
Bilbo turned around, presenting Thorin with the wildflowers he’d kept in water until now.  
  


“Are you… returning my gift?” From the upset look the dwarf shot him Bilbo could derive that this would be seen as a rejection- _if_ dwarven courting rituals applied to him.

“No, dearest, I’m _giving you flowers_ ,” he said it with a smile, hoping Thorin would recognise the gesture.

“You’re-” It took a moment, but the king’s face lit up with understanding.

“ _Oh._ ”  
  


“This should suffice as a gift of personal value. You’re a king, so I’m giving you the great honor of being the first dwarf to ever be confessed to in the traditional _hobbit_ way.”  
  


“It’s perfect.” Thorin marveled at the flowers for a second and set them back down on the desk. He turned to face Bilbo, finally able to make up for the moment his nephews ruined with a gentle, unhurried kiss. 

“Thank you.”

  
  


* * *

“You really should be glad that people were giving you the benefit of the doubt, since you’re a hobbit.”

The king and his burglar were sitting in the bed that no longer belonged to Thorin, but to them both.  
  


“And what is that supposed to mean?”  
  


“Well, if you look at it a certain way, you completed our rituals in reverse.” Bilbo stared at the back of Thorin’s head in confusion, adding another flax blossom to the strands of hair he was braiding.

“First you stood beside me, took care of me, and proved you were my equal. Then you shared my bed and braided my hair-”  
  
“Which would be easier if you stopped moving.”  
  
“And only _then_ did you give me a gift. An unconventional one, too. No two dwarves have ever given each other the exact same item to make their intentions known.”  
  


“Well, it’s a good thing that I am _not_ a dwarf, then, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe i finally completed a fic. feels really good, maybe i'll do it again sometime.
> 
> happy holidays everyone!


End file.
